Once You're Mine There's No Going Back
by luminosaveschambeschillingswor
Summary: The Witch King of Angmar will have his prize or else. The Witch King of AngmarxOC OOC the Witch King of Angmar
1. Chapter 1

h1 class="title" style="font: -apple-system-headline; font-weight: normal; -webkit-hyphens: manual; max-width: 100%;"span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"span style="font-size: 12px; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"The Black Easterling Chapter 1: Prologue, a lord of the rings fanfic | FanFiction/span/span/h1  
p style="max-width: 100%;"strong style="max-width: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"Hello again :) If any of you are experiencing deja vu, you aren't crazy. I DID cancel this story. But after watching the Lord of the Rings yet again (and receiving numerous requests from lovely fans) I've decided to give it another shot. So here it is, once again, revamped from scratch. Hopefully it will be longer lasting, better written and more fun :) Enjoy!/strong/p  
p style="max-width: 100%;"em style="max-width: 100%;"strong style="max-width: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"Prologue/strong/em/p  
p style="max-width: 100%;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"It is common knowledge that the Elves, above all, must uphold their grace. Even in moments of the utmost desperation and pain./span/p  
p style="max-width: 100%;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"And so she did, to the best of her ability, as they shot her down from the stallion's back. As they beat her and tortured her./span/p  
p style="max-width: 100%;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"As they dragged her with them to Minas Morgul...as a gift to their Witch King./span/p  
p style="max-width: 100%;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"The evil gargoyles guarding its gate flashed behind her eyes with every blink, the acrid stench stabbing into her lungs with every breath, and the sound.../span/p  
p style="max-width: 100%;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"The sound of the Witch King's voice would haunt her until the end of her days./span/p  
p style="max-width: 100%;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"But still./span/p  
p style="max-width: 100%;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"Still, she upheld her grace./span/p  
hr style="border: 0px; max-width: 100%;" noshade="noshade" size="1" /  
p style="max-width: 100%;"strong style="max-width: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"THE TRAILER FOR THE BLACK EASTERLING IS UP ON YOUTUBE! VISIT MY PROFILE FOR THE LINK :)/strong/p 


	2. Chapter 2

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**The Black Easterling** by Dawn-Of-Indescribable-Colors

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Books » Lord of the Rings Rated: M, English, Romance &amp; Fantasy, [Nazgul, Elf] Witch-King of Angmar, Words: 5k+, Favs: 77, Follows: 114, Published: Oct 13, 2013 Updated: Nov 23, 2014

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54Chapter 2: Angmar Vines 

**Gracious! My apologies for such a long wait for this chapter. Been busy of late. Hopefully, due to some time off currently, I'll have a chance to write more :) Thank you, lovelies, for your patience :) Listen to:**

**Subliminal Thoughts - Epic Score**

**Enjoy :)**

**_Chapter One_**

**_Angmar Vines_**

There was a crack in the stone.

No, perhaps to call it a crack would be too kind. It was a seam. A mere slice in the rock, far too thin to present even a glimpse of the outer world, but somehow large enough to wash her in an icy breeze each night. More than anything, she'd grown to despise that crack, and even now she was scraping at it with torn fingernails.

Her gown was torn to shreds. What had once been a masterpiece of the finest Elven silk had been reduced to a useless, soot-covered tangle of thread, serving only to protect her virtue from the filthy creatures that roamed about. And her hair...

The signature, crimson curls that had long ago whipped through the forest in flashes of sparkling fire were matted beyond recognition. She wanted to cut them off. To tear them away and burn any reminder of the life she'd once led. She was nothing now. Nothing but a crumpled wisp upon a prison floor.

Down the hall, a door creaked open, and she registered the thundering steps of many an Orc come to further spread their filth. Refusing to curl further into herself, she merely turned away, pivoting so that her scarred back faced the cell bars.

They grunted and snarked at one another as they approached, flimsy armor clinking together, and at last came to a stop before her little cage.

For the first few minutes, they spoke to her in a masticated rendition of the Elvish tongue - most likely using the only words they knew - demanding she get to her feet. When she did not respond, however, they slipped back into the snarling Orc language, spouting several curses she was familiar with.

And when that didn't work, they exercised the tactic they always had to.

One moment she sat still and cold, and the next she was drenched in murky water. Water that hadn't been clean in the slightest. Grinding her teeth, she rose slowly, somehow still maintaining the tall grace her brethren would expect of her. She'd sworn she would never lose it, and a promise was a promise.

"When I come out, you are not to touch me," she informed them, and even Orc-speak sounded less vile on her tongue. The Orcs cackled madly, striking the bars once or twice with their metal gloves. They'd never listened, and yet she always felt the need to try.

The instant she'd stepped from the cage, their grimy hands were shackling her arms and she was shoved roughly forward.

Another day progressing in the usual fashion. This was her life now...and she had to accept it if she could not fight it.

It was disturbing, to say the least, but Elves were born to exude, extend and respect beauty, and so each and every time she was delivered from the dungeons of Minas Morgul, she was forced to recognize the mastery with which the rest of the fortress was made.

Every wall, floor and ceiling was constructed entirely from black marble, smooth and glossy and without a single flaw. The windows were tinted a misty, emerald green, impossible to see out of, and yet still emitting a strange. ghostly light.

By this point, she'd seen nearly every room in the fortress, and it seemed this day they were taking her to her favorite.

Her favorite...and her most feared.

The throne room.

Favorite because it was equal to the standards of an Elven palace - spiked and glittering and, by no small measure, intimidating, and feared because of the one that sat in the throne. The Witch King. A nightmare of a creature.

It was rumored there were nine of his kind. Nine wraiths, cursed into darkness, but even one was enough to boil her blood in dread. She had seen none but the Witch King, and had no desire to, either.

But matters were far out of her hands.

The Witch King was draped across his throne in a lazy, yet regal, pose, black robes fanned out over the arms and floor. His hood was covered, as was the usual, with that terrible iron mask, horned and haunting as the Master of Death, and he acknowledged her entrance with a mere tilt of his head.

In accordance with every other meeting they'd had, the Orcs had to force her to her knees before him, and still she refused to bow her head. Her eyes bore into the black holes of his mask, challenging him...daring him to attempt to strip her of her pride, too.

"She-elf..." the King growled at last, his voice like a thousand grating nails. He spoke in the language of Mordor - the only tongue he'd ever uttered - and despite her enduring strength, it still poured ice into her veins. "I have a task for you."

Tasks...always with the tasks. They were strange and detailed orders he'd been giving her since she'd been captured. Tasks like coating the walls in oil and carving odd sculptures.

She'd never questioned them. They were far superior to other "tasks" she could've been assigned. But she nearly always felt they were simply for his amusement, and no other purpose at all.

This task was different. A task she had heard tell of, but never done herself.

A task of importance.

"You know of the Angmar vines that climb our fortress walls," he hissed. "Bleed them and bottle the fluid. We are in short supply."

Angmar vines.

They were the only source of nourishment to a wraith, and bleeding them was no simple task. One wrong slice, and its sister vines would dry up, forcing the wraiths to await their next season of growth.

Why would he ever trust her with such a thing?

_Short supply..._

He was never in short supply. Never. Unless...

She felt her gut wrench, twisting painfully and marring her face with a grimace. The rumors must've been true. There were more of them. Nine wraiths that plagued their Earth. And they must've been returning for the vines.

Without another word, she was taken from the throne room and led down a staircase she hadn't seen since the day she'd arrived, nearly ten years prior. A mere blink to a free elf, but agony for one in chains.

Her heart thundered in her chest at the idea of seeing the outer world again. Feeling the breeze on her skin. Smelling the air. And before she'd had the time to prepare herself, she was in it. Out of the fortress. Treading on slick stone from a storm that must've just passed. The sky was dark and moody, tinged with Minas Morgul green, but to her it was one of the most beautiful sights of the last decade.

She wanted to run.

With every fiber of her being, she wanted to break from the Orcs' holds and escape down the long trail ahead. But even an Elf could never make it.

And knowing this, she accepted the small knife they presented her and approached the stone walls of the bridge. A task for an Elf, certainly. The King must've known she was clever enough to complete it, and far from idiotic enough to try anything.

The Angmar vines were black, twisting little things, thin and spindly. The intertwined as they crawled over the walls, shiny in the dim, green light.

Clutching the knife lightly, but firmly, she took one of the many bottles the King had given her and held it up against one of the vines before making a careful incision vertically. Fluid as dark as Elven ink flowed instantly from the plant's flesh, spilling into the bottle, and she was careful not to lose so much as a drop.

This went on for hours, it seemed, as she cautiously bled the bridge's vines of their life-giving draught. She was halfway across the wall, having filled at least two dozen bottles already, when she heard them.

Hooves.

Wild and thunderous, and yet pounding in perfect rhythm.

The knot formed in her gut once more, and with tight fists and clenched jaw, she slowly turned to face the trail leading to Minas Morgul.

A dark shadow was approaching. Shadows. And she was quick to count them out.

Eight. Just as she'd predicted.

They rode upon midnight horses, galloping in flawless unison, and the clumsy Orcs behind her hurried to press themselves up against the bridge wall to make way. She, however, remained frozen, mesmerized by their image as the horses came to a stop at the start of the bridge.

Her gaze had fixed on one in particular.

The other cloaked beings had dropped aggressively from their horses, marching off down the bridge with determination and anger, hoods black as night with emptiness. But this one...this remained upon his horse for several moments.

She was unsure whether he was staring at her, or past her towards the towers of his home, but she could almost feel his smoldering gaze from behind the darkness.

And then he dismounted...and not at all like the others.

He dismounted with a grace akin to that of her brethren, firm in his footing but light in his step. His cloak swayed around him like wind, gusting up and then seeming to fall slowly back to Earth. It was his height, however, that most captivated her.

As he strode slowly past, hood turned to face her, ensuring that he was in fact aware of her, he seemed more a lean tower than a wraith. Seven feet. Seven feet, at _least._

And somehow, the simple sensation of his walking past, hidden eyes following her all the way, made her feel more alive than she'd felt in a long while.

But..._why?_

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**THE TRAILER FOR THE BLACK EASTERLING IS NOW ON YOUTUBE. VISIT MY FANFICTION PROFILE FOR THE LINK :) CHEERS!**

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	3. Chapter 3

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span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"span class="xcontrast_txt" style="max-height: 999999px;"By:/span a class="xcontrast_txt" href=" u/3470083/Dawn-Of-Indescribable-Colors"Dawn-Of-Indescribable-Colors/a /span  
div class="xcontrast_txt" style="max-height: 999999px; margin-top: 2px;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"The Witch King's second in command falls in love with his Elven prisoner. His punishment, and hers, will be worse than death itself. WARNING: SEXUAL CONTENT. BASED ON THE PLOT LINE OF THE FILMS, NOT THE BOOKS. REVAMPED./span/div  
span class="xgray xcontrast_txt" style="max-height: 999999px; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"Rated: a class="xcontrast_txt" href=" " target="rating"Fiction M/a - English - Romance/Fantasy - [Nazgul, Elf] Witch-King of Angmar - Chapters: 5 - Words: 5,668 - Reviews: a href=" r/9762548/"54/a - Favs: 77 - Follows: 114 - Updated: span style="max-height: 999999px;" data-xutime="1416784152"Nov 23, 2014/span - Published: span style="max-height: 999999px;" data-xutime="1381699699"Oct 13, 2013/span - id: 9762548 /span/div  
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option value="1"1. Prologue/option  
option value="2"2. Angmar Vines/option  
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p style="max-height: 999999px;"strongGosh, so sorry for neglecting this one, and thanks to all of you who showed interest :) Listen to:/strong/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"strongTieres - Brand-X Music/strong/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"strongEnjoy :)/strong/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; text-align: center;"emstrongChapter Two/strong/em/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; text-align: center;"emstrongBlood Disgrace/strong/em/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"It must've been halfway through the night before the Orcs deemed she'd salvaged enough. All around her feet stood bottles of the dark fluid, and it took more than a few Orcs to carry them back through Minas Morgul's gates./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"She trailed behind, still slightly in awe of the creatures that had passed - more particularly, that emone. /emAnd this was quite a feat...for rarely was an Elf so mesmerized./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"The doors screeched loudly as they opened once more for her, and she attempted - rather pitifully, in her state - to slip away undetected back to her cell. But she was seized almost instantly by an immensely foul smelling Orc, who leered and announced she was wanted back in the throne room./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"Along the way, she found her eyes searching unwillingly for the wraiths from the bridge, but instinct told her she'd have no trouble discovering them. They, too, would be in the throne room. There was no doubt about that./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"Something important was happening./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"The King had abandoned his throne, it seemed, in favor of standing menacingly in the center of the room, and that was how she found him upon her return. Growling and hissing and snarling in Mordor's tongue at the wraiths who surrounded him. They were posed almost submissively, hooded heads bowed and metal gloved hands resting upon the hilts of their swords in respect./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"And she could pick out the wraith she remembered instantaneously, although she wasn't quite sure how. He was positioned and clothed identically to the others. It must've been something to do with his presence. The emfeel/em of him, rather than the sight./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"It was like nothing she could describe./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"Noticing her arrival, the King ceased his growling, and in unison the other wraiths shifted their hoods in her direction./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;""Ah..." he said, but in that vile language it sounded more like a screech. "The She-Elf returns. Witness, riders, the breathing image of a fall from grace."/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"Her jaw tightened, and instinctively the anger made her stand taller. But she remained silent, unsure of what her mouth would do if she set it free./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;""This is an Elf?" one of the wraiths on the left hissed./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;""Indeed," the King replied. "And without her beauty, she is nothing. She may as well be of man's flesh."/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;""Why is she here?"/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"The voice shocked her from her frozen state, her attention yanked back to the wraith she'd been watching. His voice was dark - equally as terrifying as the others - and yet somehow deeper, with more substance./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;""She was captured. Many years ago. Shot down from her steed by one of the last Uruk-hai tribes. They brought her to me as a gift." The King's cloak swayed as he turned, addressing them all, "I only show her to you so that you may see what the rest of her pitiful race will become."/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"She could not prevent her eyes from falling shut, and swiftly she tried to convince herself that this was an empty threat. Nothing could extinguish the Elven race. They were strong...powerful...with impressive numbers./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"And yet the fear had already blossomed./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;""She is my servant, now," the King pressed on. "And I intend to keep her."/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"There was something in the way he'd said those words. Something dark and threatening, but not towards her. Rather, towards the other wraiths. Something she did not wholly understand./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;""Take her back," he then commanded of the Orcs, and before she could ponder it further she was removed from the room./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"That night in her cell stood out from the others. Ludicrous, though it may have sounded, she could've sworn she felt a benevolent presence just out of reach. Something soothing and reassuring - impossible to describe./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"But, nevertheless, it kept her warm through the night./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"The next morning, however, was an entirely different matter altogether./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"The King had her acting as a serving wench, which, of course, she'd assumed the roll of many times since her enslavement. But this morning she was not serving the King. She was serving his men. The other wraiths./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"Hands bound in a rusted pair of shackles she'd never had to wear before, she attempted still to carry herself gracefully, balancing the silver platters on the palms of her hands. Clusters of wine goblets were perched on each of them, balanced precariously, and she knew they were filled with the bitter blood of the Angmar vines./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;""My lord," she whispered, gritting her teeth as she dipped before one of the wraiths and presented him with his chalice. He snatched the drink carelessly from the platter, and she moved on./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"emMy lord, my lord, my lord/em...over and over again, she curtsied and served the grotesque clan of creatures, certain the mortification could go no further./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"She watched them gorge themselves on odd meats as well, unnecessary to their survival, but a luxury it seemed. Disgusted and humiliated, she had every intention of delivering the last goblet and taking her leave.../p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"If only it had not been emhim./em/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"emHaven, /emshe would have to sort this out. Countless tortures she'd endured...countless hardships and countless wrongs...and emthis/em would be her undoing?/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"No./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"Not this day./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"Steeling herself, she dipped her head before the final, massive wraith, only to grind her teeth when he did not react the way the others did. He did not take the glass and wave her off./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"No, instead he studied her. Evaluated her with his invisible eyes, wordless and unmoving./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"Disoriented, she remained in her bow, waiting for something. emAnything./em/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"And it was this distraction that rendered her unprepared for his action. The moment the weight of his wrist pressed down on the tray, metal gloved fingers curling around the delicate stem, her strength gave, and the platter - followed closely by herself - clattered to the floor./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"Angmar blood splashed every which way, staining her already filthy clothes and skin with dark, plum liquid. Her hair tangled and dipped into the spreading pool of it, and what last pride she'd carried in her stance seemed to die away./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"emThis/em was the nadir./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"emThis/em was the low of it all./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;""Filth!" one of the other wraiths spat, and she struggled to get to her knees, palms tearing on the broken glass. Real blood mixed with the juice of the vines, and the weakness and strain of it all - though it was really very little - had her eyes falling shut and her mind becoming numb./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"She fell again, now unconscious./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"Limp./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"Lifeless./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"Lying in a pool of blood and disgrace./p  
hr style="margin: 5px 0px; border: 0px; background-color: #cbcbcb; background-image: -webkit-gradient(linear, 0% 100%, 100% 100%, from(#ffffff), color-stop(0.1, #cbcbcb), color-stop(0.9, #cbcbcb), to(#ffffff));" noshade="noshade" size="1" /  
p style="max-height: 999999px;"strongReviews are much appreciated! Also, be sure to check out the trailer on Youtube! Link is on my profile :Dbr /strong/p  
/div  
/div  
/div  
/div  
/div 


	4. Chapter 4

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**The Black Easterling** by Dawn-Of-Indescribable-Colors

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Books » Lord of the Rings Rated: M, English, Romance &amp; Fantasy, [Nazgul, Elf] Witch-King of Angmar, Words: 5k+, Favs: 77, Follows: 114, Published: Oct 13, 2013 Updated: Nov 23, 2014

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54Chapter 4: Cherry Locks 

**Another ridiculously long wait, and for that, I apologize. However, I have received some wonderful support for this fic as of late, and it has inspired me to finish this chapter. I hope you enjoy it :) Listen to:**

**Space Enough To Grow - Of Mice &amp; Men**

**Enjoy :)**

**_Chapter Three_**

**_Cherry Locks_**

She was safe inside her cell.

Together, the words _safe_ and _cell _made little sense, and yet she was beginning to see it that way. She'd woken sticky and stained with the dried blood of the Angmar vines, smelling faintly of its bitterness, and her body bore a sluggish weight.

Starvation must've finally caught up with her.

Struggling to her knees, she managed to crawl back to her customary corner, farthest from the bars, and thus, from sight. Idly, she wondered how the Witch King had reacted to her awkward display of weakness.

Would he finally deem her useless? Finally have the mercy, or at least have grown bored enough, to be rid of her at last? To let her find eternal sleep? The grace within had begun to fade, and if she could no longer uphold that promise, then she was through.

No Elf should ever be so ruined.

Armor rattled from the far end of the hall, and she felt her eyes squeeze shut. More pain would come, of course, before she could ever be free.

It was a Goblin that came to fetch her this time - something rare and unexpected - and she forced herself to rise before the filthy water could be used again. Thankfully, the creature did not touch her as they walked, merely patrolled lazily behind, making strange, grunting noises now and then.

She was expecting the Throne Room. Expecting some form of reckoning for her inadequate behavior.

But the Goblin steered her another direction, towards the halls of many regal, unused rooms. They climbed many a stair, passed many familiar doors, until she found herself hopelessly lost.

Where was she being taken?

At last, they stopped. Stopped before a tall, dark door, identical to the others beside it. She glanced backward at the Goblin, unsure. He only leered at her.

And then the door opened from within, with no one behind it.

She stepped inside, leaving the Goblin in her wake, and was no sooner closed in. The room was dark, the green glint from the window creating patterns on the marble floor. She knew someone was there with her. Something. But whatever it was must've hidden in plain sight.

She refused to feel afraid. Refused to even appear nervous. So she approached the mantle, beneath which a small, dying fire burned. Holding her hands out, she let the warmth seep into her skin as she waited for her host to reveal itself.

It was not hiding, after all. Only watching her. And when she turned her head a fraction to look back over her shoulder, she caught the creature's movement beside the window.

She should've realized. She should've known instantly that is was a Wraith with whom she shared her presence. But the sensation of dread had not presented itself, as it so evidently did with the Witch King.

And if was only when the Wraith stepped into the light that she recognized him.

It was _that one._

The one that disturbed her the most.

She found herself swallowing a knot in her throat, shifting with discomfort before the hearth.

He said nothing, remaining still and silent where he towered in the corner - but she did not intend to ask why she was here. In fact, she did not intend to speak at all.

At last, he moved, taking a deft step toward her as if to reinforce his size. Instinctively, she stepped back.

What would he do to her? Had he been insulted by her display in the Throne Room? Did he mean to exact punishment?

She forced herself to stand taller.

Whatever he intended, it couldn't possibly be worse than what she'd already endured.

His voice was startling.

"What are you called?"

She stiffened, squaring her shoulders and clenching her fists. If he intended to interrogate her, she would be certain to be of as little use as possible. "I am nameless."

A strange sound emanated from beneath his hood - like a growl. "Even I am not nameless."

She bristled, "What do you want?"

There was another long silence, and a quiet storm made itself known just outside the window, wind brushing against the glass. Thunder rumbled somewhere far off.

"You are a Wood-Elf," he rasped, voice chilling. It was not a question.

"And how would you know this?" Despite her petulance, she regretted to acknowledge the slight inflection of respect in her tone. She was furious, but she wasn't stupid, and recognized that this creature could easily snap her neck with a good tug.

A dark rumble emitted from beneath the seemingly empty hood, and with a swiftness that made her gasp - if only slightly, he extended one of those metal clad hands and curled his fingers around a tangled lock of her hair. "This," he hissed, dragging it out towards himself before releasing it. "The color of blood."

He was right.

The cherry red locks of the Wood-Elves was something rare among their race, only she had not believed a Wraith would pay attention to such things.

_They were men once, _she reminded herself.

"What do you want from me?" she asked again, turning her head to the side. It looked as though she wished to see out the window, while really she wished to avoid the intensity of his empty, invisible gaze.

"You are an Elf," was his only response.

"Yes," she snapped.

The dip of his hood was the only indication that his gaze had moved, now likely focusing on her tattered and stained, once-beautiful gown. She almost wished to shy away.

Havens, what was his aim?

"If you have no intentions for me, my Lord, I shall dismiss myself," she said at last.

"I have none," he growled. "Only a curiosity."

"And what curiosity is that?"

"A curiosity as to why my King hides you away."

And with that, his dark robes swayed, billowing up like a black curtain as he turned and disappeared into the shadows of the room once more.

She struggled to ignore her own confusion as she quickly fled. Confusion meant caring, and she did not intend to care at all. In fact, she did not intend to think on these Wraiths.

She could not afford to.

But then that left only one other thing to think about.

And that was death.

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**THE BLACK EASTERLING TRAILER IS NOW AVAILABLE ON YOUTUBE. LINK IS ON MY PROFILE :)**

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	5. Chapter 5

**FanFiction**

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**The Black Easterling** by Dawn-Of-Indescribable-Colors

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Books » Lord of the Rings Rated: M, English, Romance &amp; Fantasy, [Nazgul, Elf] Witch-King of Angmar, Words: 5k+, Favs: 77, Follows: 114, Published: Oct 13, 2013 Updated: Nov 23, 2014

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54Chapter 5: Cleansing 

**Gracious, I can't even begin to apologize for my long absence. I hope there are still a very loyal few of you out there willing to continue you reading. I promise to update more consistently! I really do love this story. Listen to:**

**Reconsider - The XX**

**Enjoy :)**

**_Chapter Four_**

**_Cleansing_**

There were always more Angmar vines to bleed.

And after so many days working at such a grueling task, her hands were near permanently stained with its black-violet juice. The scent was revolting enough. She dared not wonder how it tasted.

But the Wraiths downed goblet after goblet of the plant's blood, and as long as they could stomach it, she supposed she would have to continue. Anything to not be punished.

The Witch King's cruelty prevailed, however, and often he would leave her outside with the Orcs during the heavy, salt-rain storms to keep working. Her skin was raw with the abuse, her clothes and hair in tatters.

She would never again be what she was.

But something shifted.

Something in her stars. In her fate. Something bright and beautiful shone upon her, if only for a small instant in time, and a kindness found her through the all bitter evil she was sinking in.

She had been particularly spent this day. Her muscles had ached, her hands stinging and knotted with overuse, and an unfortunate amount of Angmar blood had spilled from a vine down her forearms. She was soaked in it, and she had been beaten by an Orc as punishment for the waste.

Limping through the dark halls, she had every intention of collapsing within the confines of her cell. Perhaps this night she would pass away in her slumber. Perhaps she would awake to light and peace, at last free.

Perhaps.

But she was apprehended.

She wanted to scream. Halfway to her cage, the Goblin she remembered from days before stopped her, grunting something unintelligible. It appeared she would have to follow it again.

Was it that Wraith?

What more could he possibly want from her? A ruined Elf with little left?

The Goblin took her to the same room, and this time she entered without fuss, waiting for the Wraith to come out from the darkness.

She waited a long while. He did not show himself.

Taking a seat on a large, black chair beside the fireplace, she once again allowed herself to warm by it as she waited.

An hour must've passed.

Her hands were warmer than they'd been in years, it seemed, and finally she forced herself to stand and have a look around. She dared not leave the room. If she had been placed here, she would be removed just the same. Nothing about her existence rested in her control any longer.

She knew that.

Moving delicately, careful not to disturb anything, she paced the room, examining its few decorations. Weapons. Mostly weapons, coating the walls on hooks and shelves. Swords far longer than the Elven blades she was familiar with.

She approached one, coming as close as she dared, and just barely allowed her finger to graze the tip of the sword. But her skin, raw and damaged as it was, gave way under the slightest pressure, and with a small prick of pain, a scarlet bead of blood ran down her finger.

She withheld a small gasp, quickly pulling her hand away.

"I had been waiting for you to become curious."

Now, the gasp was sharp and inevitable, and with a start she whirled to face the sound. His deep growl had come from that same dark corner, and she wondered how long he had been watching in silence.

And _why_?

"Forgive me," she breathed. "I did not know of your presence."

He hissed in the darkness, "As well you shouldn't, unless I wish you to." His cloak billowed out around him as he stepped into the light of the fire, and again, she found herself in awe of his size.

There was nothing to be said to that.

She would wait for him to speak again, if, in fact, he had any intention to do so.

It appeared he could stand a long while without moving at all. Like a dark statue. She could not even detect the very rises and falls of breath.

At last, he stated his intentions, raspy voice quieter than she expected. "I shall ask you again. What are you called?"

Confusion rippled through her. Why did this creature care so very much about her name? What was his concern with it?

Masking her confusion, she provided an identical answer. "I am nameless."

His growl tore through the quiet like a blade, forcing her back several steps.

"The Witch King may have rendered you nameless, Wood-Elf, but I have power enough to reverse his command._ Tell me your name._"

She remained still, stunned into silence for several minutes.

It was then that his broad, massive chest rose with a heavy breath, and then settled back, making him not so terrifying as before. He spoke again with that mysterious calm in his voice. "Tell me your name, and you will be rewarded."

Rewarded?

She had never been rewarded. Only permitted to return to her cell, and that in itself had become reward enough. The loneliness was a virtue.

What could he possibly give her? And once more, why?

It was probably some brutal trick, but in her state, she could not turn down a possible reward, even if it only meant a sip of clean water.

With a shuddering, resigned breath, she whispered, "Phaedra. They once called me Phaedra."

There was a long silence. And then a dark, but seemingly satisfied, rumble sounded from beneath the dark hood.

"Phaedra," he growled, and somehow it made her shiver. She found herself clutching her tattered dress, feeling cold and exposed once more.

She looked up at him with questioning eyes.

_Reward me..._

He dipped his head, almost like a nod, and hissed, "Follow me."

She had expected to leave the room, or at least to go to the window where he might allow her some fresh air. Instead, he led her deeper into his dark chambers and through a doorway she had not seen before in the shadows.

A swathe of warmth washed over her almost immediately, and she found herself rushing to cling to the sensation even before she realized that it was not dissipating.

The room he had led her to was the warmest room she'd occupied in a decade. And as the candles suddenly lit themselves, she realized why.

There was a black marble bathing chamber in the center of the room, filled to the brim with steaming, and apparently clean, water.

Her breath left her in an instant, and she could only stare.

His dark voice startled her. She'd nearly forgotten he was there.

"Cleanse yourself. Those rags will be replaced." And with nothing more than that, his massive form slipped back into the shadows, leaving her alone in the bathing chamber.

She wanted to fall to her knees.

To collapse and weep with joy. With gratitude.

The simple pleasure of cleanliness had been denied to her for so long. She could hardly absorb the magnitude of this reward.

She had expected far less, if anything at all. It would appear that Wraiths were creatures of their word. Or, perhaps, only this Wraith.

Without another thought, Phaedra peeled the scraps of clothing from her skin, tossing them away, gratefully forgotten. She dared not look at her thin, filthy form, instead immediately advancing to the bath.

She would face the permanent damage when she was clean once more.

At the bath's edge, the steam billowing up at her like beckoning hands, she hesitated. With an almost shy touch, her fingers grazed the water, and its purity and warmth seemed to soak right through her withered skin.

She wasted not a second more.

She stepped willingly into the water's hot embrace, ignoring the scald and focusing only on the sensation. On the image of the black grime and dried, purple stains leaking into the water, away from her skin.

She sunk down, instantly submerging herself in its heat, and with an indescribable ecstasy she felt the stiff, filthy strands of her hair weaken and untangle. The fiery wisps spread away from her scalp, fanning out in the water.

With hands trembling from such overwhelming emotion, Phaedra began to rub the remaining, more stubborn grime from her skin, watching the once clean water tint a darker and darker grey.

At the back of her mind, she became aware of a rather unsettling truth.

Because of this, from now on, she would remain in that mysterious Wraith's debt.

A very dangerous place to be.

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